


"With Me, Pretty Boy."

by Skalidra



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2016-11-29
Packaged: 2018-09-02 22:37:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8685997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: It's 1942, and the crew of the Waverider is ready to head out for the day's emergency mission; infiltrating a Nazi bar. But it's an old-fashioned time, with some old-fashioned values about omegas, and Sara isn't about to let Ray go anywhere near the club without smelling like he's taken.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. So this, like... I have no excuse for this. My mind was in an A/B/O mood, I was talking to a friend and watching Legends of Tomorrow, and we recast the whole crew as their 'genders' and what the relationships are and... this happened? So this is Alpha!Sara/Omega!Ray, set during Season 2, Episode 2. The Nazi episode where they like, go to that bar? So... This is probably entirely inaccurate gender things but just like, go with me here cause it's A/B/O and Nazis and just _suspend your disbelief_.
> 
> (By the way, although Ray totally wants it and goes along with it and is into it, Sara employs some highly dubious techniques to enforce that. AKA, this is happy consent from Ray's perspective, but dubious consent from Sara's. FYI.)

The plan had gone well enough until their new historian — Nate; good guy, lots of information, great brain to pick — had coughed, drawn the crew's attention, and said, "One problem. This is an _old_ Nazi night club and, well… There are certain expectations."

Sara had crossed her arms, looking unimpressed but vaguely concerned, and asked, " _What_ expectations?"

And Ray wasn't real sure he'd ever seen Nate manage to look embarrassed and guilty and maybe a little aroused all at the same time but _boy_ there it was. Hundred percent.

"No alpha would go to a place like this without an omega on their arm," Nate offers, voice a tad too reluctant. "Or, more accurately… On their leash."

Ray's stomach does a not-entirely-unhappy flip, and he thanks Gideon again — silently — for the scent suppressors that keep all of them down to close-contact scenting only. They are the _only_ reason that no one in the room can smell his maybe too-pleased response to that thought and there's _another_ thing no one needs to know about him. Unless they ask, of course, because if they ask he'll tell them but no one wants to get quite that invested, do they?

"So, we're going to need omegas," Sara says, voice flat but unimpressed. "Alright, any volunteers?"

"Gideon can stabilize my scent for a while," Jax says, before anyone else. "I can be Grey's. Makes sense that way."

"Agreed," Professor Stein says, with a nod and a smile. "Now, Miss Lance, your choice is not quite so obvious but I think perhaps—”

"I'll do it," he finds himself saying, one hand lifting in the air. "I mean, I've got more field experience than our historian buddy and I don't mind a little role play." A beat of silence, and his smile falls as he realizes, "That was not at all how I meant that."

"We know, haircut," Mick grunts at him, over the top of a grin he still struggles to find anything but a little knee-weakening.

Sometimes, he thinks fate conspired against him to put him next to all of these too-attractive, too-dangerous alphas. It's just not fair to him, even a little, as the guy who hasn't actually had any kind of relief from all his building attraction since Felicity and he's _not_ going there either. Kendra happened a couple of times, but really she always seemed just slightly disappointed that he didn't have a knot between his legs so that really wasn't the greatest of stress relief, no matter how good it felt.

"It's settled then," Sara says, head turning to look at the rest of the crew to check if there are any objections. Of course there aren't. Then she lifts a hand towards him and crooks a finger, along with a sharp eyebrow. "With me, pretty boy."

He stalls. Mainly because of that nickname but maybe also because he has more than a little bit of a thing for female alphas and Sara is sort of his ideal in a hundred ways.

"Why?" he asks. He even manages not to croak it.

"If you're going to be on my leash," she says, still with the raised eyebrow, "you need to learn a few behaviors. Come on, boy. I'm not taking you out in public without a little training first."

He almost protests being in a room, alone, with — in his opinion — the hottest alpha in the ship and on a _leash_ for her, but then he remembers that Sara can and will command him across the room with no heed for the audience, and he'll fall right into line and Mick will laugh at him for _weeks_.

So he follows Sara.

The talk of the rest of the crew — and Gideon's artificial voice — fades pretty quickly, and he tries not to freak out too badly at the fact that the path they're on definitely leads to the crew's private quarters, and he kind of highly doubts that Sara's taking him to his which means _hers_ and _oh boy_. Talk about fantasies. He really just needs to breathe steadily and stay focused and not let any of those fantasies get too much of a grip in his head because this is already pushing too many buttons and he is really going to _try_ to get through whatever Sara wants — 'training;' _god_ — without getting too wet or too excited.

Sara _does_ lead him right to her room, and somehow he manages to follow her in and have the door close behind them before he takes in another breath. He makes a sharp, choked noise at the overpowering _wall_ of Sara's scent that goes right down into his lungs; confident, powerful, _alpha_ and pretty much everything below his ribs tightens up and pays close attention which was _not_ the plan.

He covers his mouth and nose with a hand after a second of stunned inactivity, not that it helps more than a little bit but it maybe feels a little bit like it helps and Sara is _looking_ at him with that raised eyebrow, arms crossed again and he thinks she's amused but he's not really sure and oh, he needs to _go_ before he does something really, _really_ , stupid.

He takes half a step back and Sara demands, " _Down_ ," and then suddenly he's dropping to his knees which was also not the plan.

She moves towards him as he stares up at her, and he maybe whines a little when she takes his wrist in those thin, powerful fingers and pulls his hand away from his face. Her other hand touches his cheek, tilts his chin up and holds it there. He shivers, knowing he should pull away, he should get up, he should go and confess to the rest of the crew that maybe this is a bad decision and he can't do this after all. The new kid can take it, surely. He can just go in as a smaller size, in somebody's pocket, in his suit which has good, useful scent-neutralizing capabilities to prevent _scent bombing._

But then she squeezes his wrist and pushes his chin a little higher and there goes _that_.

"You're pretty sensitive," she comments, as his eyes flicker. He has to manually, forcibly make himself focus again, just in time for her to slide her fingers back behind his ear and he comes _so_ close to choking except she's just pulling the neutralizer off of him where it's tucked back there and then her fingers are gone again.

"S-Sorry," he manages, voice coming out rough and more than a little breathless which is way more telling than he wanted to be. "You know, scent bombing is really rude and not at all friendly or _fair_ and I don't— I don't appreciate you using my biology against me cause you really don't need to and you could just like, _ask_ for what you want instead of—” She squeezes his wrist again, fingers digging into tender points, and his words kind of disappear back into his throat.

" _Oh,_ " is about all he can get out, soft and breathy and he doesn't quite have the presence of mind to reprimand his body for being this responsive to the right kinds of touches. (Of course Sara knows those touches; why wouldn't she?)

She pets his hair back with her other hand, and she's smiling and that's… that's _really_ important and good and he could maybe just like, melt into her knees and not move for awhile and be happy. Except for how he kind of _really_ wants to like, nuzzle her hand and be closer and maybe be a little less clothed. Maybe a lot. That would work even better.

He twists his head up towards her hand, rubbing his nose against the bottom of her wrist and taking in a deep breath that smells perfectly of her. She lets him, before she lowers her hand and takes his chin, one finger tapping against the side of his jaw.

"Baby, can you focus on me?"

He blinks, staring up at her, and then slowly manages to drag enough of his fracturing mind back together to swallow and nod. She holds his gaze, and he kind of loses track of everything else around them but she wanted him to focus on _her_ so that's not really a problem, right? The room isn't important like she is.

"I want to take you over to my bed and get you out of those clothes, baby. You alright with that?"

" _Yes_ ," bursts out of his mouth, before he even thinks about it. And then he does think about it — nakedness, bed, _Sara_ — and just repeats, " _Yes_. Please. I'm— I can— _Yes_."

She lets go of his chin, tugs at his wrist, and he follows without even hesitating, getting to his feet and following the smaller, stronger, alpha to her — _her_ — bed. Sara pulls him down onto it, putting him on his back and then casually kneeling down and swinging a leg over his waist to straddle him. He shudders when she lets go of his wrist and her hands come to his waist instead, nailed fingers scratching along his stomach as she pushes his shirt up his chest. He twists his head to one side, and the pillow underneath it _reeks_ of her and he can't help just pressing his face into it and giving a hitched moan, fingers curling into the sheets beneath them.

The shirt bunches beneath his armpits, and then she's peeling it up over his shoulders, manhandling him into getting it over his head and off his arms before dropping it off the side of the bed. Then her fingers on his chest, nails tracing over his skin, and his eyes flicker shut again, mouth parting so he can breathe more evenly. Not that that's going to help even the _tiny_ bit that putting his own hand over his face did, but he can dream and maybe not make a fool of himself entirely. He doesn't need to be so totally like some fainting, wanton, romance novel character does he?

Then her nails find his nipples, and any thought of trying to restrain himself gets knocked to the outfield with one hard pinch. He gasps, pushes up into the touch of her nails as his back arches off the bed. She presses him back down and that's good too, anything is good so long as she doesn't stop rolling his nipple between her thumb and finger. Her other hand scrapes down his chest, nails catching briefly in the dip of his belly button before her hand pushes down under where she's straddling him and is undoing his belt and _oh_.

His legs twist, pushing against the bed, as her hand palms at his cock through the barrier of his underwear. He gives a small whine of encouragement, and pleading, and her hand slides further down and fingers are pressing against his entrance, wet fabric pushing slightly into him. He whines louder.

"Pretty wet for me, aren't you, baby?" she asks, but neither of her hands stops and that is really sort of the entire attention span he has right at the moment so he doesn't even try to answer. "I'm going to get you out of these in a minute, promise."

That he might have actually had some sort of response to, but then her hand is pushing past the band of his underwear and he can only manage a moan, fingers pressing back and down and _in him_. He tries to push down against them, but they're already moving, deep and twisting and _perfect_ and his back would be arching except her other hand is flat against the center of his chest and pinning him and that's more than a bit of a thing for him and he just—

He whimpers, twisting his head back into her pillow, thighs trembling as he grips the sheets hard enough to make his fingers ache. " _Alpha_ ," he begs, the word coming out breathless and desperate. "I— _Please_ , I— Don't stop; _don't stop_."

He gets a third finger instead, and he can feel _that_ stretch but it's good and full and he just needs a little more of it, a little more—

Nails dig into his chest, sharp little pinpricks of pain and he keens and arches his throat back, the building wave crashing up and through him with no other warning. He writhes as much as he can, feet pushing against the bed, clenching down around her fingers as he comes. He can feel the smear of it as his cock jerks, and the gush of wetness down around her still moving fingers.

She keeps working him until he's been reduced to a panting, gasping, trembling mess of overstimulation, and he's about another two shocks of pleasure away from trying to coherently ask her to maybe give him a second to recover unless she wants him in tears which is really not all that bad and if she _wants_ it… Then her fingers slow, sliding out of him carefully, and he feels raw but maybe also wound high enough to come again if she just takes a couple minutes to force it out of him, which is new and interesting. He breathes against the pillow, trying to relax, trying to come down from the high of it all.

" _Very_ sensitive," she says, sounding closer now.

He forces his eyes open, shivering a little as her hand slides out from inside his pants. "Sorry," he says, reflexively. "I know. I—”

She hushes him and he immediately stops, and then her fingers are on his lips and that's his own slick on them, which drags a purely good shiver out of him. He licks at her fingers without thought, raising his closer hand and gripping her wrist so he can pull it closer, get her fingers in his mouth to suck at them properly. He whines a little when she tugs them away from him, but quiets when she slides that hand back through his hair instead.

"Beautifully sensitive," she says, as she swings off of his waist. "Bet I could get you screaming if we had the time."

He shudders, then breathes, "Good bet."

Her hands drop to his hips then, sliding his pants down as she leans in over him, mouth pressing against his throat, just below his jaw. He finds himself gripping at her shoulders, tilting his head further back to offer more room as he gives a deeper moan, unconsciously lifting his hips towards her, which lets her pull his clothing down around his thighs. She bites at his skin, light enough not to hurt, strong enough that he can feel her teeth pressing in against skin and the muscle beneath, and his hands drop off her and back to the bed as he pushes into her teeth.

She bites one more time, then kisses the skin of his throat and murmurs, "Good boy. Stay right there for a second, baby."

He looks down, but stays otherwise still as she pulls back from him, moving down and quickly pulling his pants down, fingers pulling away his shoes and in quick order leaving him entirely nude. He shivers a little bit, and she slides a hand up his thigh as she comes back to him, fingers reaching the crease of his thigh and groin and lingering there, way too close to where he actually wants them. Them and more. God, he'd take anything from her.

"Sara," he begs, as she leans over him.

"Shhh. Roll over for me, baby. Hands and knees."

He scrambles a little bit, rolling over and almost into her as he does, but she pushes him back into place with steady hands, guiding him up on his knees, his back sloped down so he can keep his head against that pillow and in the wealth of her scent. Her hands rub against the outside of his hips for a moment before pulling away, and he shivers at the rustle of clothing but doesn't move, weight braced on his elbows, hands in the pillow.

"Such a good boy," she says, hands returning to his hips and pulling at them, tilting them back so he's more open to her. "Going to fill you up now, baby. Give you what you want." He whines, shifting back towards her, and then there's pressure parting his folds. A firm pull on his hips, a push forward, and he cries out as she sinks into him, back arching even more as instinct demands it, head falling to bare the back of his neck.

She doesn't wait, just like she didn't give him time with her fingers either and he yelps as she shoves into him again. On the edge of rough, fingers tight on his hips and pulling him back into each of her claiming thrusts. He can't help but be loud, crying out and moaning when he can get the air, trying to move back against her as much as he can. She feels incredible, feels like everything he’s missed since Kendra left and maybe even before that. Her scent is heavy around him, burning deep into his lungs with every gasped breath and smelling like the best kind of sweet and sour sauce.

“That’s it, baby,” comes the praise, and he can hear the slight strain to her voice which gives him a whole fresh wave of pleasure and then it’s just a looping cycle.

He’s so high on all the rest of it that he only barely recognizes the sharp coil low in his gut before it snaps, and he _writhes_ but she holds his hips still even as he shoves against the bed with his feet and hands and _keens_. Again she doesn’t stop, and god it’s _so good_ that he just shakes and whines and twists the sheets between his fingers as he rides out the stretched orgasm.

Even when he’s gone mostly limp, his head spinning too much to do anything useful with it, she keeps going. That’s not unusual, his mind supplies as it slowly comes back to him. He comes before most alphas, just, usually he hasn’t had another beforehand and he isn’t quite this high, which is new and interesting and maybe a little overwhelming but hey _that’s_ good too and—

And he feels the swell of her knot start to stretch him open and his upper brain functions pretty instantaneously vanish again. He arches down, presses his hips back, and she _growls_ down at him and he immediately whines in response, submissive and pleading and oh god _yes_. He can feel where her fingers are probably going to leave bruises, and she shoves into him and catches, filling him as he trembles, knot locking in place. He can feel the first rushes of her release, and he goes sort of foggy.

It isn’t until she’s guiding him down, pressing him into the bed and then carefully tugging him onto his side as she presses up against his back, that his mind slowly deigns to start to come back. One of her hands circles his chest, pressing to his stomach and holding him to her. He gives a pleased sigh, pressing his hips back against hers and letting his head fall down a bit to bare his neck. Almost immediately her mouth is against it, teeth digging into the back of his neck hard enough that _oh_ , _yeah_ , there goes his processing again.

He floats, giving soft whines as she works at his throat, the throbbing of his pulse melding with the pulse of the knot buried in him into one thrum that heats his body from within. Slow, lazy heat that he doesn’t feel the need to chase, not with her teeth against his neck and the pressure of her knot within him. This is, honestly, his favorite part of any kind of good time.

There are _not_ many times that his brain isn’t running at a million miles an hour.

Eventually he feels her knot start to deflate. She doesn’t pull until it’s almost all the way down, and he gives a soft whine as she slips out of him, but one of her hands is pressing strong against his side, and that’s enough of a grounding point that he almost doesn’t mind when her teeth let go of his neck too.

“Stay,” she orders, and he gives some sort of assenting mumble as he curls into the sheets and she gets up.

She’s back again before too long, fingers pressing something against his lips that he automatically opens his mouth to accept. It tastes a little medicinal, and when he blinks open his eyes Sara pushes his mouth closed, leaving it on his tongue. A pill, he thinks?

“Swallow that for me.” She sits down next to him, petting his hair, and he does as she wants. It’s not big; it goes down easy enough. Then she’s pressing him onto his back, and he gasps a little as warm wetness slides over one of his thighs.

It takes him a long couple seconds to identify that it’s a wet cloth, and that she’s cleaning him up. As soon as he does he relaxes into it, giving a soft moan of gratitude and pleasure as she works, the passage of the cloth a little bit rough against sensitive skin but nothing he can’t handle.

Then she’s pulling him up to sitting, and he lets his eyes drift open again to watch her, his head tilting to follow her movement as she slips across the room and collects the bits of his clothing. She presses his shirt into his hands, kneeling to start pulling his underwear back up his legs.

He just blinks for a moment, until she leans in towards him to catch his gaze and says, “Back into clothing for me now, Ray. Come on, sweetie.”

Oh. Well… “I’d really like to just lay here awhile,” he offers, not really protesting but maybe not moving to get dressed either because everything smells good and he _feels_ good and he’s not sure he quite wants that to end yet.

“Nope,” she denies, pulling the shirt from his hands and onto his arms, one by one. “We’ve got a mission, remember? Nazi club to infiltrate.” He stares for another second, and she smiles down at him with a little wicked twist. “Did I break you, Ray?”

“No, I—” He clears his throat, swallows. “I’m good.” A deep breath — her scent floods into his lungs but it’s a little easier to ignore it now — and he manages, “Yeah, okay, mission. Right. I should… I should go take a shower then, just real quick. Get some period clothing — what _is_ the fashion for Nazi omegas? — and meet up with the others and you can—” _Right_. “Leash. Yeah. So I’ll just—”

“Nuh-uh.” She finishes buttoning his shirt, then pulls him to put his legs over the edge of the bed so her hands can pull his pants up over his ankles. “You’re going to finish getting dressed, _then_ come get clothing with me and we can get ready to go. No shower.”

But…. But that would mean walking out among everybody else just _reeking_ of her, and what they did, and well it’s not like he’s _ashamed_ or anything but that seems a little in-your-face for their team. Plus walking into a bar smelling like _this_ feels kind of like an invitation and he’s not so much for random alphas at bars trying to pick him up, let alone get handsy. It kind of seems like asking for trouble.

“Why?” is what he asks, strangling his tongue down so he doesn’t start babbling because _really_ that’s the important part of the question. She doesn’t need to hear how his mind spins.

A kiss gets dropped right in the center of his forehead, before she tugs him up to his feet — really, logically, she should not be able to pull him off the bed without his help but she _does_ — and pushes his shoes, socks, and belt into his hands. He stares at them, as she wraps a hand in the front of his shirt and pulls him towards her, other hand combing his hair back from his face and then curling tight into it, as she very gently kisses him. He can’t help the soft whine that drags up and out of his throat, and she chuckles.

“Because,” she starts, quietly, “you’re not going into a private Nazi bar where the custom is still _leashing_ omegas, without smelling and looking like you’re mine. The stronger that is, the safer you’ll be.”

“Okay,” he agrees, maybe a little hazed but he _does_ understand. Could answer the quiz and everything.

Her hand leaves his hair, but the one in his shirt just pulls him with her, towards the door. “Alright then; come on, baby. Let’s go get you some better clothes.”


End file.
